


Casket of Birds

by RE_tale



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, CrownPrince!Bokuto, Fluff and Angst, Implied Relationships, M/M, Minor Character Death, Omega Akaashi Keiji, Omega Kozume Kenma, Slow Build, akaashi is badass, kenma is your typical romance drama protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RE_tale/pseuds/RE_tale
Summary: A competition to find the ideal omega for Fukurōdani's Crown Prince is the perfect opportunity for the world to grasp at their chance at royalty, but as Akaashi Keiji soon finds out, being behind the palace walls may be more lethal than he once thought."Kago no Tori," Kenma whispers, the brush in his hand forming the characters in fluid movements, leaving a trail of black on the crisp white paper. "Is that not what we are? All of us here are simply a glorified casket of birds."





	1. Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that the society and elements in this story are mostly fictional with a few Japanese traditions and cultures thrown in - aka, this is not an accurate representation of Edo/Asuka/Feudal/Ancient Japanese society.
> 
> Inspired by Throne of Glass by Sarah J Maas + a range of Asian dramas.

The air inside the palanquin is overbearingly humid and suffocating. The forest green silk curtains lined with embroidered gold owls are drawn to hide his face from the onlookers, but they also serve the purpose of showcasing his family's wealth and house colours to those who may care. He sits quietly and patiently in the centre of the box with his hands wrapped around a silk paper fan under layers and layers of heavy navy silk kimono.

At this rate, the make up will melt right off his face.

He draws out the fan from under the weight of his sleeve, unfolds it and begins to fan himself gently. His family crest - a golden rufous owl with its wings spread across a green circle - is sewn onto the fan with not a single thread out of place. Hot air blows towards his face and caresses his pale skin, but it only makes his throat dryer and his lips feel more chapped.

His fingers tap inaudibly on the frame of the window - it's drawn open slightly, but barely enough that the wind that comes through grazes the curtain. He wants to curl his hands around the handle and yank it open, but he falters slightly.

_This is a competition to find the mate of the future Emperor, Keiji. You cannot expect everyone to play nice._

With an exhausted sigh, he sinks back on the silk cushions and inhales the intoxicating scent of incense. He runs a finger along the length of his lacquered fan and feels for the hidden blade inserted where a slat should have been. The hustle of the crowd outside is fast-paced yet reserved - no doubt he's already in the Imperial City. He hears shuffling of feet, clattering of jade beads and the swishing of wind from a fan.

But then, he hears whispers.

"He's in there, the omega son of the Akaashi's."

"That's the Akaashi family alright, can't wait to show off their wealth and standing."

"Huh, even the Shirofuku's came by carriage."

Keiji leans forward and pushes the curtain to the side slightly, only allowing himself a tiny glimpse. There's an old woman with a mole on her chin and several other women and men dressed in black and white robes lined with gold and silver. Their clothing is a plain, simple canvas in comparison to his gown of elaborate richness and detail, yet their movements seem smoother and unhindered.

"Bet his father will bribe the examiners to take favour." She sneers in a croaky voice.

"It's unfortunate for His Highness. Such a wide-eyed, naive boy…yet he'll no doubt be forced to marry one of these high-nosed brats whose fathers sweet talk the Emperor."

"Let's hope one of our children manage to pull through to the end," another woman pipes up and Keiji cannot help but utter a quiet laugh, ducking out of the curtain.

 _What a hypocrite,_ he thinks in amusement, _They're also in this for their own personal gain._

"Ah look, here comes the daughter of the Shirama family - I hear she's killed off her third puppy of the month." The voices fade away slowly with the continuous flow of the crowd and Keiji stares into the silence. The walls around him seem to squeeze closer.

The palanquin shudders to a halt and briefly, he wonders if they've already arrived. But then there's a loud, moaning creak and thud of wooden doors being opened and soon, the palanquin resumes its monotonous march. The world around him goes strangely quiet and the cries of the crowd falter and grow distant.

The wooden doors slam together with a bang and all he can here are the footsteps of his servants and the clutter of hooves from the carriage behind them.

He assumes he's on royal grounds by now. Pulling back the sliding window, he almost sighs in relief at the cool air that comes through. The stone surroundings of the palace are significantly colder than beyond the wall. The courtyard is vast, empty and lifeless, grey stone pathways spanning out across towards the buildings right towards the horizon with no one to walk them.

His eyes look down at the set road that his servants are walking on and follow slowly up. Two large buildings with elegant black pagoda roofs and white walls are on either side of the broad pathway, joined by a towering golden gate. One building alone is the size of his entire family estate.

The gates open once more for the palanquin and it continued to amble on forward like ants on the massive path. The buildings on either side of the path casts shadows over him, despite the road's unnecessarily spacious width, and the palanquin is enveloped by darkness. His mind is tense and his sweaty hands grip the fan tighter. He can just barely see light streaking through the road ahead of him.

He pushes the curtains slightly to the side to expand his vision and await the incoming light.

It's the smell that hits him first, before the light, before the palace, before anything. It's beautiful.

It's the smell of a thousand, blush pink cherry blossoms and gentle winds, the smell of crystal clear water and lush green fields. It's the smell of a memory, back at his estate, of hands wrapped around smooth wood and the quiet hum of cicadas in the night forest. He thinks this scent is better than any of the fragrant oils and exotic creams his beauticians slathered on his skin.

He's learnt about the architecture of the Imperial Palace from his tutor - designed by a famous architect several hundred years ago, the palace was developed at the pinnacle of traditional art and prosperity of the time. With several levels floored with lacquered wood and fresh tatami, continuous walls of elegant designs and looming ceilings filled with centuries of art and literature, the palace stands as a display of superiority.

Keiji has only ever seen a hand-drawn diagram and map of the royal grounds - but suddenly, the world on paper comes alive and he stares in awe at the sight before him.

The Imperial Palace is, in a word, extravagant, more than he thought. The palace displays the Imperial colours, with pagoda roofs of deep, midnight black lined with thick, bolded edges of pure gold. The walls are white stone and from a distance, its almost blinding. The stairs at the front of the palace as well as its balustrade are smoothly-cut slabs of aged grey stone with streaks of white.

The main square is magnificent, grand and perfect, with impeccably trimmed hedges and blooming sakura trees filling the courtyard with splashes of pink and green, backed by the blue sky and glaring sun. Women with expensive kimonos and silk paper parasols over their shoulders flit around the courtyard like butterflies. Men in equally as beautiful and lavish robes glide past with all the elegance of a rare flower.

He sees several other carriages and palanquins fill the space of the courtyard. There are also young women and men dressed in mildly rich robes standing in the courtyard alone - evidently those who did not possess any noble ranking. His eye flash over a boy around his age - possibly even younger - with limp ombre hair and a small frame wrapped in warm brown silk robes with a basic dragon pattern. Keiji has read tales about little ash girls dressed in gowns of silver who win the heart of the one surrounded by gold - but he knows those scenarios would never happen in this world.

His palanquin slows to a slow and there's muffled murmurs as it slowly lowers to the ground. The door slides open, and there's a hand that extends towards him. He takes it gratefully and gets out as elegantly as one possibly can. The spring air is warm but the occasional breeze is cool as it twists and flutters through his silky black hair.

The palace is beautiful - breathtakingly so. But the stone walls that shadow the palace grounds are so high that one cannot see a single thing on the other side. He's entered from one prison to another.

For some reason, the world seems to drain of its warmth.


	2. Ringing of the Gongs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Finally, it is his turn and he rises with all the grace and poise smacked into him in the last decade of his life. His walk to the front is elegant and dignified, the rustle of his lavish kimono being the only sounds that sweeps through the hall. He kneels onto the pillow politely and stares calmly at the officials before him.
> 
> "Akaashi Keiji," he states plainly, and the expression on the officials' faces turn sour."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this clusterfuck of fancy description and overuse of adjectives heehee

Somewhere at the entrance of the Imperial grounds, the colossal gates slam together with finality.

The remaining stragglers are a mix of noble families and commoners, delayed by distance or problems with costume. They file into the courtyard slowly, and when the palanquins and carriages leave, a silence falls over the courtyard.

Keiji looks around at his surroundings - there's a vast number of men and women alike, splashes of bright hues and glints of silk arranged in order whenever he turns his head. _Is there even enough room to fit all these people into the palace?_ He questions silently, but one more look at the monumental palace answers his question.

He stands somewhere in the centre of the courtyard, his fan spread to cover the lower half of his face. The waves of colour and pale, made-up skin is almost nauseating, as is the continuous flow of body heat due to close proximity. Yet the courtyard is awkwardly quiet, and even the passing palace courtesans and workers glide by with an inaudible step.

Uncomfortable looks and rigid glances flicker between the contestants and the intricately engraved doors of the palace, which sits in a grave tranquillity. The tension in the air is thick and suffocating - they're all in this for the same thing and hardly anyone can't help but feel as if friendships are not allowed to be forged in this environment.

There's a few, of course. A tall, lanky commoner girl with her well-brushed olive hair up in a high ponytail bounds over to Yukie loudly, who smiles politely back despite their clear class difference and engages in mild chatter. Keiji supposes he should make conversation with his childhood friend, but no words or topics of any relative importance make their way to his mind. He stays quiet.

The doors to the Imperial Palace creak open and all heads turn to the entrance. The clash and aftermath hum of a gong rings in the air, a chilling, cacophonic symphony. A man steps out, clothed in extravagant robes lined with gold and silver - his robes are navy, signifying his considerably high rank in the palace.

"Welcome," he begins, voice stern and blank. "I trust you've all had a safe journey from your homes to the Imperial City." He pauses, but no one dares to open their mouths.

"You are all gathered here today, for a reason." He begins again, pausing with a leering stare at the crowd. "To prove your worth and eligibility to sit by the Crown Prince's side as not only the future Empress, but also as his mate."

A quiet, unsaid statement hangs in the air. _For your family's own gain and benefit._

"Shortly you will all be gathered in the palace to come before the Emperor and his officials. Please arrange yourself in formation and enter the Palace when you are ready."

There's a short scramble as men and women alike in heavy robes scramble around in attempts of merging into straight rows. Accompanying palace servants and maids are quick to organise and settle down the situation, setting all the omegas in an endless, accurate river of colour. Keiji slides into position when an opening forms. They begin to walk - a death march.

The inside of the palace is just as beautiful as the outside, with gleaming wooden floors and walls supported by gold and black pillars. The corridor leading to the Imperial Hall is decorated with porcelain vases filled with colourful flowers and gold-framed paintings of a line of royal family members, ranging from the first Emperor to inhabit the palace.

People eye their surroundings with awe, gaping at the extravagance and centuries of history that rested in the building. They walk to the very end, where the current Emperor and his late Empress sit in a portrait, their infant son rested in the Empress' arms.

Keiji examines the painting carefully, eyes roaming over the detail in the robes and bodily features. The royal family's signature golden eyes seem almost luminous in the portrait, the colour shining in the orbs of the Emperor. His son - the current Crown Prince - is asleep, eyes closed and two-toned streaked hair barely poking out from the covers of his gold blanket decorated with black and white horned owls.

He wonders what the tiny babe sleeping in his mother's arms looks like now.

They navigate through endless corridors and halls, passing door after door, decoration after decoration. They finally stop at the end of a hallway in front of another large door - this time, sliding -They pause momentarily, before a servant scuttles by and whispers into the announcer's ear.

The doors slide open, revealing a large hall with floors of crisp tatami and walls of shoji framework. The rows begin to fill slowly into the room. It's decorated with intricate rows of floral arrangements and scrolls of silk paper art and calligraphy.

The first thing he notices when he walks through the doors is the elevated stage at the very front of the room. There's been similar stages back in smaller rooms in his own house, for the purpose of hiring performers during a party. Three men sit at the low table in the centre of the stage, dressed in official navy robes. Several scrolls sit on their desk and beside them, and they each hold a empty quill in their hands.

The second thing he notices is that there's a second stage behind the first, mostly hidden behind a paper screen. He makes out a silhouette against the thin fabric. The figure is imposing, even if hidden, and clearly heavily dressed.

However, pools of gold fabric spill from either side of the screen, and the shadow of the person's headdress is enough to tell anyone that they are in the presence of the Emperor himself.

The masses of omegas begin to fill up the room, remaining in their lines. The hall is clearly large enough to fit everyone despite their great number, with rows and rows of silk cushions laid out spaciously before the stage. A single, lone cushion sits isolated in front of the all the others, placed strategically in between the others and the examiners.

When the hall quiets down and everyone has been seated, the very first person is led up to the front of the stage, to sit down on the lone cushion. "Give your name and any talents that you may possess." The examiners order, and the brown-haired girl takes a deep breath.

"Misaki Hana," she exclaims confidently. "My family's bloodline enables me to calm anyone down if I wish. I also have talents in dancing and singing."

The judges nod, their eyes searching the scrolls before scrawling letters with their quills. "You may return." The girl gets up as gracefully as she can and makes her way back to her place. Keiji muses that her family has probably subjected her to hours and hours of perfecting her technique for something so simple.

The judging proceeds smoothly. A slim man with freckles adorning his face barely passes after he stares frozen at the officials, pupils shaking and mouth agape. He manages to introduce himself smoothly, despite the fact that several sweat beads slide down his temple. The olive-haired girl that Yukie was talking to - Suzumeda Kaori, states she has talents in fishing. The officials wrinkle their noses, and they send her back to her place with a peculiar lilt in their voices.

Keiji listens patiently and attentively at each contestant as they introduce themselves and files away their information into the depths of his mind. Everyone here will become either friend or foe in the challenges that lay ahead. His index finger taps at the fan tucked within his sleeve.

A black-haired man steps up and immediately Keiji knows that he is no ordinary person. His robes are dyed purple - usually only worn by the highest dignitaries trusted completely by the Emperor, but the purple is a differing shade to the one that his father wears when he makes his way to the Imperial Court. The kimono that the man dons is one of unparalleled extravagance and wealth that rivals the royal family itself.

But what's truly definitive is the crown that the man perches on his hair, bejewelled with amethysts.

"Goshiki Tsutomu," the man declares proudly, chest puffed up as his voice booms through the stunned hall. "Prince of Shiratorizawa. As a member of the royal family, I have the ability to transform into an eagle."

The hall stays silent in a daze, stupefied by the man's declaration. The judges before them shuffle uncomfortably with the newfound authority in the room.

A loud, unfamiliar voice booms through the room and shatters the silence.

"I wasn't aware the Shiratorizawa royal family had an omega son," the voice rumbles from behind the screen. The Emperor. The officials look absolutely scandalized - the _Emperor_ _himself_ has addressed another. Everyone else in the room stare with confused gazes - Shiratorizawa was a distant country to Fukurōdani and throughout the centuries of history between the kingdoms, historians had only recorded the occasional merchant selling Shiratorizawa metal weapons.

"Not much is known about our royal family apart from the Crown Prince Ushijima," is the man's reply, laced with contempt.

The Emperor says no more and his figure merges back into the shadows behind the screen. The judges stare questioningly at each other before nodding for the young prince to return.

The normal pace resumes and the next three dozen pass through without incident. Strangely enough, there's another man from Shiratorizawa, a commoner named Shirabu. The list continues, the koto-playing daughter of the Shirama family, the kabuki-acting noble son of an acclaimed performer family and the commoner son who considers fitting his fist in his mouth to be a talent.

Finally, it is his turn and he rises with all the grace and poise smacked into him in the last decade of his life. His walk to the front is elegant and dignified, the rustle of his lavish kimono being the only sounds that sweeps through the hall. He kneels onto the pillow politely and stares calmly at the officials before him.

"Akaashi Keiji," he states plainly, and the expression on the officials' faces turn sour. "My bloodline gifts me with enhanced intellect and wisdom from a young age. I am skilled in…arts such as dance and music."

The judges regard him coldly as they narrow their eyes, scrutinising him. They note him down and send him away with an apprehensive look and a sharp thrust of their heads.

He returns and more people continue through, introducing themselves and their skillset. It's been at the very least three hours since the first girl - Misaki Hana whose bloodline calms upon desire, he remembers - has kneeled on that cushion. There's still a large amount of people remaining to introduce themselves, despite each introduction being brief.

The ombre-haired commoner from before steps up with a blank expression. "Kozume Kenma," he drones, his voice barely audible, head bowed. "I do not possess a bloodline, as I am not of noble blood." There's a hint of sarcasm weaved through his words. "I read often. I can probably recite a lot of literature." He pauses and stares expectantly at the judges, who stare back at him with stony eyes and a pursed mouth.

"That's it," he says and bows slightly, his long hair framing his face. They nod in return, though their expressions are icy. 

More introductions amble through. "From a young age I was trained in dance - I'm particularly skilled in kabuki and chu no mai. I was also trained in musical instruments such as the koto and I've also studied arithmetic, history and literature in full depth with one of the finest tutors in the kingdom," a young noble named Nakashima Takeru blurts enthusiastically at the judges.

Yukie comes up next. "Shirofuku Yukie. My family's bloodline enables me to control silk. I am talented in watercolour painting."

It continues for another hour before finally the last person, a commoner named Shibayama Yuki, introduces himself. When he returns to his position, Keiji almost sighs in relief - his legs are stiff and numb from kneeling for hours, and the humidity in his kimono is becoming unbearable.

Tatami doesn't echo, so the room is silent but for the rustling of the scrolls as they wait patiently for their next instructions.

Finally, the centre official clears his throat and holds out the scrolls. "There are 526 of you here with us today," he states. "The Imperial City is capable of holding up to 10,000 people with over 100 buildings not including the Imperial Palace." 

A sneer seems to play at the man's lips. "However, I'm sure you are all aware that this is no ordinary invitation to the Palace. You have all come to prove yourselves and secure your worth in this kingdom." The official stares pitilessly at the crowd and ruffles the sleeve of his robe, navy flashing in the sunlight. 

_It's amazing what people can do when they know their superior cannot see them._

"Not all of you deserve to step into the Imperial City, not all of you are worthy of even breathing the air that we breath." Keiji inhales and the nauseating smell of incense floods his nostrils. He'd rather not, really.

" _None_ of us here are worthy of having His Excellency in our presence here today." The man's tone takes a sickeningly sweet edge, a plastic simper plastered onto his face. "Yet, our kind and selfless Emperor has graced his presence upon us, to see which one of you are worthy to stand by his eldest son's side and rule." Their words are all the same, a repetitive mantra of praises and degradation. 

"Therefore, the first test begins right now, in this very hall," the man declares. The silence seems to impossibly increase. It's terrifying to even move a hand for fear that a sleeve will rustle.

Truth be told, he doesn't know what to expect for this first step. It must be related to the skill-set of an Empress, after all. Dance, Music, Art? Perhaps even flower arrangement?

With a flick of a hand, servants begin to pile in, carrying layers and layers of paper and quills. "The rules are simple. I will read out the opening phrases of six poems and it is your test to complete each one. Those who do not receive a perfect score will be deemed unworthy and sent back to return to their families."  

Small, panicked murmurs flutter around the hall amidst the steps of the palace workers. "But this is unfair!" a voice screams out to the officials and all heads turn in awe at the sheer audacity of the man. "We commoners can't afford education to study this! This is completely biased towards you nobles!" More mumbles of agreement filled the halls.

A small, smile makes its way onto the man's face as he stares pitilessly down at the speaker. "Are you saying that our future Empress should be uneducated?" His voice is silky and laced with poison. "How can we ever lay our faiths in someone who cannot make wise, informed decisions? How can we place our hopes on one who cannot read scrolls of messages and citizen requests, or to be able to calculate the taxes and state of the economy of the entire kingdom? How can we _trust_ someone like that to rule over this kingdom by the Crown Prince's side?" Each word is as sharp as an newly forged sword, and the man's face appears stricken as he stumbles back into place, resigned.

Two pages of parchment are placed before him and a wooden writing board is slid underneath. Another servant carefully places a quill and a miniature ink pot, decorated with paintings of owls. When everything is finally set out, the servants gradually clear out of the room. The sliding doors slam together with a thud and the smirks plastered on the officials' faces begin to widen.

"Your exam commences now," the man purrs and there is a wave of clothing shuffling to lean forward, quills dipped in preparation for the words that will come from his mouth.

"By the river Yoshino, the globeflowers on the bank..." the man trails off. Keiji's mind immediately traces its source. _Tsurayuki_.

He picks up his quill and begins to write as easily as if he were reciting a verse of his favourite song in small, elegant black strokes. He finishes in a matter of seconds, his answer written in clear and accurate characters.

A few minutes later, the man begins again. "With the wind, what is there to rest?"  _Atsutada_.

Keiji finishes another with ease, pausing to listen to the uneven song of scratchings of quill on paper. These poems are advanced, yet known well for students who dedicate years of time into the study of literature. He has doubts that any commoner at all would be able to identify the poems.

"More than usual, has this been a peaceful..."  _Ah_. There's of moment of realisation as he identifies the following words of the poem.  _Spring. All the poems follow a Spring theme._  He looks up from his bent position for a window, and spies cherry blossoms drifting off their branches and swirling down like pink rain. How _fitting._

He catches a movement from the corner of his eye-- the person beside him had jolted when he turned around. Ken Nakamura - a commoner who was able to swim extremely fast. Keiji's eyes flicker briefly at Nakamura's paper - he's completed most of the poems with crooked handwriting, yet he is frozen in place for the final word of the third poem. The poem is straightforward, and for someone who has gotten so far, it should be simple. 

It's easy to piece the puzzle pieces together. "The scent of plum, from cherry blossoms..." Keiji shifts his kimono sleeves on either side of him and wonders why this test was taken with all examinees in such close proximity to each other. He wonders if he's overthinking the fact that the people beside him have stop writing.

"If the snow be gone, young shoots of dropwort..." Straining his mind, he cycles through the countless numbers of poems that he had memorised. Was it Yoshitada, or perhaps Emon? Perhaps another piece by Tsurayuki?

 _Spring. What poems are Spri-ah._ The strokes of his fifth poem are considerably hastened and rushed as he quickly scrawls down the answer - a poem that his tutor has briefly recited one day when discussing works in anthologies.

The final poem seems to come plummeting too fast. "Feeling regret, tonight I write down..." He frowns. He doesn't remember this one.  _Spring, spring._ The chant repeats continuously and continuously in his head. Which poet, which words? How much time remains?

How humiliating would it be for the son of the Akaashi family, a family whose line has been trusted for several generations as the Emperor's advisor for their intellect and reasoning, to lose at the first test? His father wouldn't be beat him, wouldn't scream - he wasn't the type of person to do that.

But his father told a thousand words with a single glance and the shame and disappointment burning through his father's green eyes left a heavy weight in his chest.

Shifting his attention from the theme to the actual poem, he repeats the phrase in his mind.  _Feeling regret, tonight I write down...this person...what has he done that has made him regretful?_

He thinks of poets, shamed and shunned by society for unforgivable crimes. Of monks tucked away in their monasteries never to love anyone but their God. None have written works matching the one before him. He reels as faces and strokes of incomplete characters flash through his mind in a blur. 

Slowly, he connects the dots.  _Related to Spring...maybe not? What happened during Spring? Regret, regret. Who would have felt regret? 'Tonight I write down'...does that mean the next day the poet was to be executed? Something was going to happen to the poet..."_

And then it clicks. The poem isn't mentioned in any of poems he has studied in literature, but he has read the poem in a history book on a biography of the past Emperor Sutoku, thought to be a direct ancestor of the current royal family. Keiji's quill flies over the parchment - he just barely fits it all into one parchment, unwilling to use the second. Miraculously, the quill curls the last stroke the second the gong rings and servants begin to file into the room.

Everything is collected and the room is returned to its original state. "A single mistake will determine whether you fail or pass. Even one, tiny misplaced stroke may cause your failure." The official clarifies, and a nervous hum rings through the hall. "Your test is currently being assessed by a unit of _impartial_ examiners. How many of you shall pass, knowing that a single stroke may cost you your future as the Empress-?"

If he listens hard, Keiji can hear the strangled, contained sobs of someone a few rows back. The girl beside him looks down at the floor, fist clutched and shaking on her knees. Nakamura stays still beside him, skin pale and pupils dilated in shock, clouded in shame. Admittedly, he's worried too, afraid to coming home to ashamed green eyes and the plaster walls that bind him within.

The official's smile is both dream-like and morbid as he flashes his yellowed teeth at the crowd. "Shall we hope together?"

Keiji stares fixedly at the man, fearing that averting his eyes would mean punishment. The hall of people in the thick silence wait for the verdict, but there's no doubt that only a few will make it out of the first exam.


	3. Night Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Out of the 526 people who had entered the palace gates that morning, only twenty five remain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratings may change eventually :) Also this chapter is so long wth
> 
> Ft. implied iwaoi and tsukiyama hurrah
> 
> Also Kenma talks way more than he usually does :3c

It is a surreal feeling, watching from his allocated room's window as large clusters of people shuffle out the palace. Most have their heads down and sleeves clasped together, as if in mourning - their failure will have brought shame to their family name. Others are shoved outside the palace gates with their hands tied together as they scream and howl for the corruption and prejudice. The sky is too dark to make out the colours of their robes.

Out of the 526 people who had entered the palace gates that morning, only twenty five remain.

It doesn't shock him at all, considering the strict marking guideline of the short exam where mistakes could easily have been made. He was fortunate to have even made it past the first test. But what was truly intriguing was that for an exam designed solely for the purpose to filter out commoners and unintelligible nobles, three commoners had managed to make it through. More shame for the nobles who failed, he supposes.

With a tug, he slides back the window and turns to his living quarters. The room is spacious, almost twice the size of his room back home. It's decorated with hanging paintings and fresh flowers that perhaps would have created the earthy smell of plucked roots. Instead the room is swept by aromas of oils and various creams imported from foreign countries - Shinzen, perhaps. Various pieces of elaborate furniture decorate the room - couches, seats and a vanity. His four-quarter bed is painted gold and the silk covers and pillows are obscured from view by a white gossamer canopy, drawn daintily across the bedposts.

There's a nightstand by the bedside with brass handles. Placed on top of the drawer are a candle, his fan and several small ornaments that look as if they serve no other use than to be pleasing to the eye.

He pulls it open and glances inside. There's a tiny jar of crushed medicine as well as a teapot - suppressants, for when they went through heat. 

Standing around doing nothing holds no benefits, so he slips on a haori over his nightgown and slides his fan into the pocket. He pushes open the doors and walks out, eyes flickering left and right to the guards who are posted in front of his room. They stare ahead, figures still like stone. 

"Would any of you happen to know where the library is?" he asks politely and a guard raises his arm and bows.

"Allow me to take you, Lord Akaashi," he says before beginning to walk, armour clashing. Keiji follows behind in quiet steps and memorises the path. Down the corridor, left, left, second turn right, up the stairs, to the right. 

They finally stop before a large door, a sign painted in kanji hovering above the arch. Keiji nods at the two guards stationed in front, and they simultaneously bow and open the doors.

The library has a high ceiling and towering shelves filled with thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of books and volumes that haven't been selected in possibly centuries. Histories of cultures and old generations of Emperors lie within these shelves. Thick, dusty scrolls that could never be found anywhere else other than right here in the Palace. This is a privilege that many scholars and especially his teachers, would sell their life for.

The atmosphere in the library is, as expected, deathly silent. He shuffles around and looks up, eyes squinting to see the top shelf. Some of the books at the top seem so old and fragile that a single touch seemed capable of dissolving a volume.

He figures he should begin revising all the things he could possibly be tested on. He strolls past the overshadowing shelves at a leisurely pace, eyes reading through each individual section. There's books on everything, from the anatomy of an owl to a book on the study of a Western foreigner's famous works. 

His eyes ghost past a volume sitting on display in a worn orange cover. "Kenjutsu" it read, a book by a previously renowned samurai. Two blades are patterned onto the surface of the cover in an X formation. He strolls past the display and makes his way towards the next shelf. He spies a "Dance for Masters" volume in the distance and begins to make his way towards the final shelf.

And that's when he sees him.

It's the ombre-haired commoner from before, one of the three exceptional commoners to pass to first test. The omega's hair is tied loosely in a ponytail, hands flicking pages of an unusually thick encyclopaedia. There is always something strangely extraordinary about the boy, who seemed to carry a regal air around him despite his low birth. The man is quiet, reserved but intriguing when it comes to it. The fact that he has passed the first exam without a single mistake is truly surprising. 

_Kozume Kenma_ , Keiji remembers, _the reader_. It isn't too hard to remember him - which could be somewhat of a praise coming from someone of his standing. 

Kozume is reading a book with a title he can't see just yet. The book is extremely thick, around the height of a folded kimono. The man's features are young and porcelain, but his face still retains the sharp edges of being an adolescent.

Keiji picks up his desired book from the shelf and makes his way to sit in one of the many empty chairs. He chooses one in a small corner, hidden by a stand of scrolls. 

The book is analytical and practical, maneuovering through several techniques he's learnt before and several techniques that he hasn't. Centuries of unique choreography for several tales of heartbroken maidens and estranged lovers are covered in the book, followed by expressions and deeper feelings that the dancer should experience whilst performing. 

Pages and pages pass and he sits there, hours on end with his eyes skim-reading the words and picking up important tips. He pulls out his fan, copying the figure in the book with studious analysis, spreading out the fan and angling it. It's an extremely feminine gesture, hips swinging to the side and chest pushed. It's the dance of a male commoner who rose up to become the Emperor's favoured courtesan - apparently based off a true tale. 

He's halfway through learning about the "essence of Chu No Mai" when there's a loud voice, audible several rows away. 

"You think you belong here with us?" It's a feminine voice, luscious and smooth, but the contempt and poison laced through the words is anything but beautiful.

Curious, Keiji gets up and closes his book lid, stowing it away underneath his arm. He peeks over the side of a shelf and sees Kozume with another noblewoman, whose sleek blue eyes are cold with frozen fury.

Kozume doesn't reply, and simply flicks to the next page. The smell of incoming conflict is thick in the air. The noblewoman pauses momentarily, staring wide-eyed in shock. The angle of her finely drawn eyebrows is comedically amusing. 

And then her face twists into a hideous expression filled with rage. "You don't seem to know the difference between us, do you? You don't belong here. Your filthy pigsty parents don't even rank as a servant in the Imperial Court. You don't deserve to be in the same building as the Crown Prince."

Still silence, and the woman's face twists even further, crouching down to breath down his neck. "How did you pass the exam, boy? Did you cheat? I bet you cheated, didn't you? Just what I'd expect from a lowborn like you."

The man sighs, resigned, before setting down his book. "How can I cheat if the people beside me didn't pass?" he finally says in a drone.

"How would anyone bother to notice someone like you doing anything, say, adding an extra stroke on their paper?"

"I'd think they'd notice quite well, if they were smart enough to get full marks on their paper." Kozume pauses, before his eyes lift and meet the woman's. "Mika Atsumu, was it? Your family's bloodline grants you keen observation as well as photographic memory, which is really a pity considering how others are born with this naturally." She glowers in return and bares her teeth. "You're quite known for your appearance around these parts - quite the beauty indeed. It's really a shame that your fiancee had to leave you for another man - your brother, was it?"

Something in her changes completely as she snarls, hand raised and prepared to kill. But by the time her fist comes down, Keiji is already there, hand clasped firmly on her wrist. 

"The very first rule that was given to us was that 'no violence is to be inflicted upon any other contestant'," he states calmly, his hand shaking as she screeches with unconfined, animalistic fury.

"You bitch!" she roars at Kozume, who raises an eyebrow and shifts his line of sight to Keiji, silent gratitude in his eyes. "You piece of pig shit!"

"It will not do you well if the officials hear of this foul language, Atsumu-san," Keiji says and shoves her hand down to her side. "It is completely unbefitting of one with calibre such as yours."

Miya's eyes flash and for a moment, it appears as if she is ready to strike again. The fan in his sleeve brushes against his wrist.

She steps back instead, and turns away with a glare in her eye.

It's slightly awkward in the newly-found silence. Keiji slowly turns around to face Kozume, who seems relatively unsurprised at the incident. "Mind if I sit here?" he asks, pointing at the seat opposite Kozume. The other man nods.

"Do what you want."

He pulls back the chair and sits down, placing the book before him. Once he settles himself, he stares at the characters written on the books like they were hieroglyphs from another language. It's hard to concentrate. He looks up and observes Kozume's features. The man has an oval face and relatively delicate features. His eyes are a strange shade of gold, similar to those of the Imperial family. The unique ombre hair sits on his head lazily, although it's evidently been washed and brushed by servants after the twenty-five passers were named.

"You must be extremely intelligent, Kozume-san, to be able to pass the First Exam. I admit I struggled slightly myself."

"Kenma."

"Hm?"

"I don't like people calling me by my last name. Please call me Kenma."

It's not everyday that a commoner asks a noble to refer to them with their first names, as if they had been friends of the same class for their whole lives. Yet Keiji nods, strangely. "Kenma-san, then." 

Kenma nods faintly. "You are Akaashi-san, correct?" His eyes remain on his book - the entire collection of short fantasy tales by several authors. "I enjoy reading. I lived next door to a teacher and they owed a favour to my parents. So I asked them if I could read the books they had stored in their collection. That's how I taught myself to read and write."

"That is certainly very admirable," Keiji nods. "But you have not received training in any of the other things that we are probably required of. Dance, singing, art, these are all things that omegas, especially those of the Emperor, are supposed to master."

"I suppose that's why you nobles are fated to win this whole thing," Kenma says plainly. "You've all got special talents and years worth of training. All I have are books."

"Are we really the one's to win this though?" Keiji questions, eyes lingering on the other man's form.

"You'd be a fool to think otherwise," is the reply. "This competition has been bound for one of noble birth from the very beginning. Take Misaki Hana for example. She will become a prime candidate for the Crown Prince's mate."

Keiji tilts his head and blinks curiously. "Why is that?" 

The other stares at him over the rim of his book. "You nobles might not be aware of this," he starts, "But the Crown Prince is a frequent visitor of the village outside the Imperial City. He is well-loved by the commoners - charismatic, friendly and always willing to help those in need. But one could say that...his personality is rather unstable."

It's certainly news to him - the Crown Prince proudly associates himself within the commoners' village as a frequent visitor, how queer. It's curious and almost amusing how despite his father's high standing, he's never seen the Crown Prince's face, yet commoners have seen his face multiple times. "Sounds terrifying."

"It is...alarming. The Emperor must know about his son's tendency to get enthusiastic. The Misaki Clan's bloodline will grant several benefits towards the Crown Prince should he take their daughter as his bride. With someone like Misaki Hana, with her ability to calm at touch, this could become a vital advantage for her. There is also Nakashima Takeru, a high-born son who has been thoroughly educated by several of the best teachers in the kingdom, and he's not afraid to hide that fact."

The man's face flashes briefly through Keiji's mind, fine, slanted eyes regarding the officials with his chest puffed up. He's certainly a viable choice for Empress. 

"That may be true," Keiji says, calculative. "However, among us all, the Prince of Shiratorizawa will be the one to gain the most favour. He is a prince of another royal family - a union with him and the Crown Prince will be most beneficial for this kingdom's survival. His position is simply an unlocked treasure chest waiting to be opened - the examiners will no doubt take favour."

There's a strange, tense silence, and Keiji looks up questioningly at Kenma's quiet figure. He's startled when his eyes are met by piercing gold ones, which almost seemed to glow in the dim candle-lit library. They're beautiful eyes, with a gentle brown rings around the pupil.

"That is not necessarily correct," the other says, fingers fiddling with the page. "Do you know about Seijoh's Second Prince?"

Of course he's heard of him - there's hardly an omega, beta or alpha alike that hasn't heard of the legendary omega, known not only for his alluring beauty, but his natural gift of perfection. He was the role model of omegas - the pinnacle of standard for an omega to aim for. He was the legend for betas - one of no flaws whatsoever. He was the dream for alphas - who wished that he were their mate.

"Are you referring to the one they call the 'Perfect Omega'?" 

"Yes. Apparently a few years ago, the Crown Prince Ushijima of Shiratorizawa asked for his hand in marriage. He declined." 

Keiji nods. "I'm aware."

"But why?" Kenma says quietly, his tone indicating he already knew the answer. "Why would the second prince, despite all his reverence, decline the courtship of the one known to be one of the strongest alphas in the world? No less, the Crown Prince of another powerhouse kingdom? He could have become an Empress, continued a pure-blooded royal line or whatever those noble's squawk on about. Yet he didn't."

"Aoba Johsai is a closed, conservative kingdom," Keiji answers smoothly. "They prioritise the development and fortification of their own kingdom more than the expansion of their empire. For a kingdom who's decisions revolve only in their area, a marriage to the people will be more important than a marriage to royalty."

"Exactly. He married and mated with his childhood friend, the son of the Emperor's military general. A union such as that will strengthen the trust between the royal family and the military, no doubt. Who are we to say that the same thing will not happen here?" A pointed look is thrown his way, lazy but suggestive. 

He stares back and lowers his chin slightly. "Are you suggesting something?" he asks.

"Do not play dumb. With your father's position as one of the Emperor's advisors, not selecting you would be a great insult to him. The Emperor may be worried that your father's loyalty may waver if you do not succeed."

"My father is not so idiotic as to blame the Emperor for my own shortcomings."

"Every father desires their child to succeed, so upon failure they may feel injustice towards whoever passed down the decision. This is no exception."

Keiji pauses and watches Kenma's expression. "You really are a curiously perceptive person, Kenma-san. Truly, how do you know so much?"

Honey gold eyes lock onto his for a brief moment as a page is turned. "You'd be surprised how much commoners gossip. Perhaps we even know more than some nobles do." He looks back down at his book, and the conversation ends there. Keiji closes his book and walks out, leaving his book on the table, where a librarian with tired eyes stares at him with a rather disappointed expression on her face.

He returns to his room and sits on his bed, drawing out the fan from his pocket. He stares at the blade in the fan quietly, before placing it on his nightstand and laying down to sleep.

* * *

He sleeps a dreamless sleep and wakes up the next day to a servant nudging gently at his sleeve.

"Lord Akaashi, you are called to breakfast," they say plainly. He pushes himself up by the elbows and squints around at his surroundings. For a brief moment, he wonders where he is, why he's there. There's unfamiliar maids moving around an unfamiliar room, and he's lying in an unfamiliarly large bed with an unfamiliar bedframe.

The events of the day before suddenly flood back into his mind and he closes his eyes, letting it soak in.

He pulls back the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Maids and servants stride towards him, each holding different articles of clothing and selections of accessories. His robes for the day are forest green, to match his eyes.

Servants lead him towards the great dining hall, one leading him whilst the others trail behind. Doors in the same corridor open and more servants file out. In the centre of each group is a figure of intense colour and extravagance - the other contestants. Keiji finds himself raising his head to meet the dark brown eyes of the purple-robed Shiratorizawa prince, who lifts his head in turn and stares at him with a lethal look. 

They make their way in silence towards their destination, finally stopping in front of another large door. Servants slide it open and they stride in with their chins up and back straightened. There's five other contestants already seated, hands in lap and waiting patiently. There's the Shiratorizawa commoner, who sits straight as he regards them with caution. The noblewoman from before is seated beside him, and glares daggers at Keiji as he makes his way towards them. There's the other, freckled commoner, who stares at them both with frightened, alert eyes, next to Takeru Nakashima, who greets them with a plastic smile. 

Finally, there's Yukie, who throws him a faint, drowsy smile and pats the spot beside her. It's hard not to feel isolated in this environment, so he welcomes the small gesture with a nod and makes his way towards her. A maid pours tea into a porcelain cup and slides it towards him.

"Hello," she greets, before lowering her voice. "I'm honestly starving right now! Geez...when will the others arrive?"

He nods. "I'm hungry too," he admits. "Hopefully they'll arrive soon." 

"I wish they'd hurry up," she whispers hastily. "Do you know how many times I had to take a sip of my tea and clatter it down to hide the sound of my stomach grumbling?" He chuckles, hiding his mouth behind his hand, and thinks about how it's nice to talk to someone from home. Yukie's dressed in a beautiful gown of peach orange, and her brown hair is allowed to daintily brush past her shoulders.

Soon, more contestants stride in dressed in brilliant colours with elegant patterns, and seat themselves at the table. Sunlight filters into the room through a paper screen and and shadow patterns of tree blossoms shift on the table. Finally, Kenma steps into the room and seats himself at the far end of the table. The door is shut and breakfast is served. 

"Ooh, they have my favourite," Yukie murmurs as the maids place a box in front of her and pull off the lid, but that's the end of the conversation and all eat in relative silence. Keiji keeps his head down as he chews on his rice ball, careful not to make eye contact with anyone else. 

He supposes this kind of thing will need time - and patience - to adjust to. He finishes his meal as quickly as he can without looking like an uncultured swine. Soon after, Yukie places down her chopsticks with a quiet clatter. The food is delicious - rich and flavoursome, but the taste on his tongue is foreign and leaves a greasy aftertaste. Servants come collect his and Yukie's boxes, wiping down their side of the table. The sounds of quiet chews shift through the hall. 

When the last box is removed and the entire table cleaned, the twenty-five people continue to kneel and keep their heads down. Beside him, Yukie exhales are shallow, as if she's been holding her breaths. 

The doors open one final time, and the examiners from the day before stroll in confidently, heads held high and the long sleeves of their robes linked together. Keiji watches them out of the corner of his eyes. Everyone immediately turned their bodies to face them, heads down in respect.

"Welcome, all. You have done well to get this far," the man says, his voice lacklustre. "My name is Takeyuki Yamiji, the head officiator of this competition. This competition will take place over the course of fourteen weeks, with one test on the last day of each week. Slowly, each week, a selective number of people shall be eliminated until four remain."

"Of these final four contestants," the second official begins, "They will have to undergo one final test given by the Emperor himself, in order to determine the final victor. The other three finalists will have their families promoted and their ranking substantially raised, and will become some of the most sort after lords and ladies of the kingdom. There will be no doubt that as soon as these finalists step out of the Imperial City, they will be approached with numerous offers of marriage."

"We expect only the very best of performances," Yamiji says curtly. "Every week shall be dedicated to perfecting your skills - use it wisely. Let it be a strong reminder that your living quarters are in the West Wing - and that will be the _only_ sector of the palace you will be allowed to visit. Everything you may require - the library, practice rooms and even a garden are all available and easy to access in the West Wing."

"You will be under extremely strict conditions and a tight schedule. Breakfast will be at six. Lunch will be at twelve. Dinner will be at six. You are welcome to do anything you desire in the time between as long as it remains in the West Wing and follows the regulations that we set for you when you settled in." They begin to turn away. "You have six days remaining until the next test. Strive to pass."

When they leaves the hall, the prior silence returns, chilling and fragile. With a rustle of his magenta robes, the Shiratorizawa Prince eases up and gives them all an once-over before strolling out. Takeru Nakashima follows suit, followed by another noble from Ubugawa and the commoner from Shiratorizawa. Akaashi stands up and offers Yukie a hand, which she gratefully accepts. He isn't sure where to go on from there at all. Perhaps he should return to his quarters and brainstorm a list of possibilities.

He looks up and sees Kenma shuffling outside of the room, head bowed and weighed down by a burgundy kimono. It looks entirely too large on him, dragging behind him on the tatami.

He walks outside the doors with flashing possibilities running through his head. Yukie strolls calmly behind him before brushing past and whispering. "I'll be in the dance rooms if you want to come."

He doesn't. Instead, he heads back to his rooms accompanied by two servants, who leave him as he enters through the door. The room is cold and silent. His bed is made and the room has been swept and wiped clean. However...

His eyes widen and he takes long strides towards his nightstand, opening up each of the drawers and gazing inside. Suppressants, quill and parchment, but it's not what he wants to see.  _Where is it?_ He wonders, unsure if he should be panicked.  _I swear I left it on the top._

Taking a breath, he walks towards his door and opens it, gazing outside. The guards posted outside peer at him curiously, but he pays them no heed and walks up to an approaching maid whose hands are full of linen sheets. "Are you one of the people who cleaned my room today?" he asks and the maid looks almost stunned at his question. She quickly regains her composure and bows.

"Yes I am. Were you unsatisfied with the cleaning, milord?" she questions politely and somewhat nervously. Keiji shakes his head.

"No, not at all, I'm quite happy. I was wondering if you saw a fan somewhere in my room?"

Her eyes light up in recognition. "Ah yes, one of the maids placed in the cabinet with all the other fans. It should be in the second drawer of the largest cabinet. Shall I fetch it for you, milord?" 

"It's fine," he replies, nodding in gratitude before returning to his room. He opens the cabinet drawer and sees his fan lying closed beside others. He exhales, chiding himself for overthinking. He spreads open the fan, watching the pattern unfold - the disguised blade lies undetected amongst the other slats. Folding the blade and making a mental note to keep his fan with him for the most part, he places it back into the cabinet next to a violet one.

The wood shakes slightly and he blinks before knocking gently at the wooden base of the drawer. It sounds hollow. Gently, he picks up his fan once more and slides out the knife. He slips the sharp tip into the miniature slit on the sides and jerks the blade up. The wood shifts and he lifts up the panel to reveal an empty, unused compartment. 

In curiosity, he pulls open the other drawers and taps at the base, but none produce the same thin sound as the first. The thrill of discovering a secret despite it only being so small and insignificant fills his veins, but there's nothing he can place in there conveniently. He pushes the panel down and slides the assembled fan up his sleeve, closing the drawer and the cabinet doors behind him.

He revises his options through his head. What arrangement of study would maximise his ability and skills with the time and information provided? 

Looking down from his window, his eye falls upon a large garden with a myriad of beautiful flowers, impeccably trimmed hedges, stone paths, little bridges over small rivers and ponds brimming with fish.  _This must be the garden of the West Wing_ , he thinks to himself, appreciating the care taken for the area. He scans the area, watching for any human movement. When he  sees none, he smiles.

* * *

 After being escorted by a guard down to the entrance of the gardens with parchment and brush in hand, he steps onto the stone bridge at the entrance. A small river flows beneath his feet with crystal clear waters and polished rocks. The pathway is covered in pink petals from the surrounding trees. The scenery from up close is even more beautiful than from a distance, but if he looks closer, he can see the imperfections in the design - the rough edges of the hedges, the wilting blossoms and age-broken pathways.

He strolls through the garden, searching for a good location to sit down and paint. It's extremely serene and somewhat soothing to walk through observing the architecture. If there weren't walls cementing the boundaries of the garden, it would seem even lovelier.

In the centre of the garden is a large pond with small red boardwalks built over it. Assortments of orange, black and white koi fish splash around in the waters below, awaiting their meals. Cherry blossoms float around in the background, accompanied by fresh greenery. The colours are extraordinary - and would make quite the vibrant painting. He sets about searching for a good location to seat himself and paint the scene before him. There are small stone seats on the other side of the pond and he makes his way towards them.

There's a small charm which lies sadly and pitifully on the ground. He picks it up and observes it, turning it side by side. It's a silvery-blue, with the words 'May your journey be fortuitous' embroidered onto the silk charm. There's a small moon sewn onto the corner of the charm and it tugs familiarly at the back of his head.

_I wonder who dropped this._

There's a hustle of movement and his eyes flicker upwards, surveying the source of the sound. There's a large cherry blossom tree beside a spherical bush - and a fan of canary yellow fabric peeking from behind.

Cautiously, he makes his way up to the person. Their features begin to materialise as he edged closer, short dark green hair, revealing a neck of smooth, sun-kissed skin. The man is kneeling, wrapped up in a robe of yellow. There's a pot in front of him filled with a small amount of dirt, green leaves and stout stalks emerging from the base. Flower arranging -  _Ikebana._

"Excuse me, did you drop this?' Keiji asks, tapping the charm onto the shoulder of the figure. The figure turns around - it's the commoner with freckles dotting their face. Up close, his face has a sort of fragility and delicacy to it.

"Oh!" the boy flushes, taking the outstretched charm. "Oh, yes! I didn't even realise that it dropped!" His fingers fold around the fabric and he clasps it to his chest. "Thank you for returning it." He murmurs quietly before his face jolts up in shock, eyes wider than plates. He falls into a bow. "I'm sorry for troubling you, Akaashi-san!"

Keiji nods, slowly. "You do not have to be so formal with me. Are you acquainted with one of the noble families?" He questions politely, and the boy - Yamaguchi Tadashi, he remembers - slowly looks up and blinks at the charm.

"Y-yes...I work as a servant in the Tsukishima house." The name rings some bells in the back of his head - a family serving under the Emperor known for its manipulation of the moon and tides. There was a scandal a few years back when the father disowned his eldest son in favour of the younger.

"Your masters must be very kind to gift you a fortune charm such as this," Keiji says, although he supposes theft would also be a viable option.

Yamaguchi smiles, soft. "My masters at the household are good and kind," he replies genuinely. "They treat their servants well and do not beat us when we fail at our duties. They are all intelligent and skilled, especially the second so-" The boy opens his mouth again, but closes it immediately, looking slightly withdrawn. Keiji stares at him curiously but does not force him to continue.

"I see you are practicing your flower arrangement," he comments instead, and Yamaguchi flushes. 

"Yes...I thought that maybe the last test may give a hint to the next...and since the last test revolved around poems focused on spring...I thought..." his eye runs across his pot, "...that maybe..."

"It's certainly a logical conclusion," Keiji says, taking a mental note of it. "But tell me, I'm sure many of us are surprised to see people not of noble house make it past the first examination. How did you manage to pass?"

The boy's freckles seem to glow with the pink that dusts his face. "W-well...um..." His face flushes bright red. "The...the young master sometimes...teaches me when he is...studying..." His voice turns softer and awkwarder until it is almost an inaudible whisper when he finishes the sentence.

It is a foreign concept - but he supposes it happens somewhere. Some noble families aren't as patronisingly authoritarian as his father. 

"I see," he mutters, before turning to leave. The expression on Yamaguchi's face is stricken.

"Please don't apprehend them! They...they were only being nice..." his eyes go watery as he jerks into a bow. "Please, they've been so kind to a common servant like me. I do not deserve any of their hospitality."

Keiji pauses and frowns. "I think you're misinterpreting the situation here, Yamaguchi-san." The boy's eyes go wide. "I have no intentions to tell anyone anything."

"Y-you know my name?"

"I take note of everyone's name. You must be extremely intelligent, Yamaguchi-san, to have been able to live here."

"Um," Yamaguchi stumbles forward. "Thank you, A-Akaashi-san!" 

"There is nothing to thank me for," he says quietly, before forcing a smile onto his face. "If you'll excuse me now."

There's a slight flicker of recognition that passes over Yamaguchi's face like clouds drifting over the moon, but it goes away as soon as it comes. The boy stares back, forlornly with another soft smile plastered on his face, before turning back to his ceramic pot.

* * *

It is late at night when he emerges from the dining hall with his stomach full but still uneasy. His painting of the river hangs on the wall of his room. A floral arrangement sits on a stand by his closet. A scroll on Spring lies finished on his writing desk.

His stomach still feels rather heavy, so he nods at Yukie and tells her that he'll go off for walk.

"Stay safe," she whispers back and waves before heading back to her room, presumably to complete her painting.

He strolls through the corridors with two attendants behind him. The corridors are lit only by lamps hung on the walls. Guards are stationed within sight of each other, and they stiffen whenever he passes.

The walk clears the haze in his head and he turns around to make his way back, but a sign above a door stops him.  _Dance,_ it reads and he figures he may as well spend some time in there. The guards at the front slide open the door and light up the lamps in the room. The room is empty but for a few paintings of dancers and a stage where musicians must have played on as dance accompaniment. The window is open, and a light breeze flutters into the room and rustles the branches of the tree outside.

He dismisses the attendants, who bow and hastily step out of the room. The door shuts with a light tap.

The room is silent - and one can hardly dance with no music accompaniment. Keiji closes his eyes and revels in the stillness. Peace or tension, he can't quite distinguish the two right at this moment. His hands fumble for his fan, feeling for the fabric and the wood. He grasps the hilt and pulls it out, spreading the fan and its pattern wide.

Embracing his arms in front of his face, he hears the music of an old piece that he had danced to a year ago. By instinct gained from many months of practice, he steps forward and launches into the dance.

The story behind the dance is one of old folklore. _A woman of wondrous charms and rare gifts is trapped by the expectations placed onto her shoulders_.

Keiji swoops low and sweeps his fan across the air. She _grows exceedingly frustrated at the bars of steel she is surrounded in._

He twirls, over and over again.  _The woman feels as if she is trapped in a cage, or perhaps a display?_

His fan spins in his hand elegantly and he tosses it into the air, gently catching the falling fan with his other hand.  _What is the woman to do when she is so full of despair? Shall she face death upon her own blade?_

The fan snaps shut and glides across his torso.  _A hand is placed on her shoulder, the key to her cage within its grasp. The door unlocks and-_

There is a crash outside his window, and his eyes flash open, his fan still clasped in his hand. He stands, sweat dripping, his body frozen in time as his eyes dart towards the open frame. He watches with eyes wide at the window for any movement. For a moment, it's completely silent.

A loud rustle - and he's at the window sill in the blink of an eye, blade unsheathed from his fan and tapping at the throat of the assailant. The figure lets out a squawk of shock and almost falls back, but Keiji yanks at the back of the person's clothing and pulls them in. The blade is tucked right at the base of the throat - such delicate, porcelain skin could be pierced with just a little movement to the side.

The person is not anyone he's ever seen before - definitely not one of the remaining twenty five contestants. It's a man with wild, untamed two-toned hair of grey and black, broad shoulders and  _radiates_ of Alpha. The man's linen robes are slightly dirtied - yet it is not the uniform of the servants or attendants.

Keiji pushes the knife's flat surface against the man's cheek. Green eyes meet gold and there's a nagging familiarity at the back of his head that he cannot seem to clear.

"Who are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that alot of the information mentioned in the chapter may help in the future...
> 
> Alternate chapter summary: Keiji talks to peasants


End file.
